


I've Had Some Time (To Think About You)

by alicekittridge



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, With canon elements again because that's how I work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29395602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicekittridge/pseuds/alicekittridge
Summary: Childhood friends meet again in another time. The summer of 1987, to be precise.
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. The Smallness of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I'm working on two fics at once. Which is... okay. Acceptable. I'm terrible at going full AU, so please forgive that; I feel like my writing is more meaningful when I can do puzzles with canon events. This might also update slowly. 
> 
> Rated T for now, but that's subject to change with later chapters. Tags will also be updated accordingly. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading xx
> 
> \--  
> Title is from Patty Griffin's "Long Ride Home," which is this work's overall theme song.

**T** he heat was bearable, for an English summer, but still enough to make one sweat despite being dressed in the appropriate attire. People lingered a little longer in cooler buildings, or hung about next to fans in appliance stores and window units in cafés. Tempting as any of those options were, Jamie had no time for them. There was work ahead, a load of it, and the first step was delivering a detailed order sheet to Archie Murray, owner of Murray’s Floral, direct from Lord Henry Wingrave. The list was mainly various arrangements to be placed inside Bly Manor for Lord and Lady Wingrave’s wedding anniversary—which Henry was keen on observing, despite Dominic and Charlotte’s deaths two years ago—and suggestions for future arrangements for the charity ball at the end of August. And there were, of course, the additional plants he wanted Jamie to plant in the gardens.

“Something light, if you would,” he’d told her when they were reviewing the sheet. “The guests would appreciate it.”

It was, thought Jamie, releasing a heavy breath as she tugged on the door to Murray’s, a lot of work. But it was never so much that she thought she would drown. Her hands needed it as much as her mind did, not only for the love of it, but to remind her where she’d come from.

Being a Tuesday, the shop wasn’t very busy, save for a handful of chattering customers and focused staff. It smelled of a sweet mix of flowers and soil and colored cellophane. Jamie let herself sink into the comfort of the place, imagining herself here, and thought, not for the first time, Maybe one day, looking over shoulders, hoping to spot Murray. True to form, he was at the arrangement counter, but he wasn’t alone. A woman stood opposite him, a little taller than Jamie, her blonde hair glowing with the sunlight, full of volume, wearing pale blue jeans and white shirt, leaning on the counter with an elbow, chin supported in a palm, listening intently. A wave passed over Jamie, an intense déjà vu. _You’ve seen this before._ Accompanied by nostalgia, and projections of half-forgotten images whose edges had faded. _Same woman, but a girl. Blonde hair, eyes blue as a cloudless sky, a boy with dark eyes framed by glasses and unruly brown waves never far from her heels._

Dani Clayton.

Who had, many years ago, been Jamie’s friend.

Propelled by both the order sheet in her trousers pocket and some invisible string, Jamie walked until she reached the counter, just out of Dani’s field of vision, her mouth forming the only word she could find.

“Dani?”

She turned, and _Oh,_ went Jamie’s heart, stuttering for a beat, stunned by the casual beauty that greeted her. Jamie began, “This is… odd, and you might not remember… We were in school together. Ages ago.”

A crease appeared between Dani’s brows, and for a single moment Jamie was afraid this was all some terrible, embarrassing mistake, until pretty eyes widened and Dani said, “Oh my god.” Her smile was sunlight. “Jamie! It’s been…”

“Ages,” Jamie repeated.

“Eons,” Dani agreed. She stuck out her hand. “This is heavy.”

“Well,” said Jamie, accepting it and shaking it, “they do say the world’s small enough to fit in your hand.”

“I suppose the theory’s been proven now.”

Murray, having finished an arrangement of carnations, passed it to Dani, who inspected it with a pleased expression.

“Lovely,” Jamie commented. The flowers were a pale pink.

“Yeah,” Dani agreed. “It’s the last day of my private tutoring, so I wanted to get the kids something nice. Something that wouldn’t have them running around like headless chickens.”

“Where do you teach?”

“St. John’s Academy, on Cherry Lane.” She sighed. “Teaching four is a hell of a lot easier than twenty.”

Jamie nodded her agreement. “Kids run you ragged.”

Dani laughed. She passed a credit card over once Murray totalled the order. While he waited for the card’s approval, he turned to Jamie and asked, “Here for Wingrave’s order?”

“Yes sir,” replied Jamie, fishing the sheet from her pocket, noting the surprise on Dani’s face.

“Wingrave?” she said. “You mean Lord Henry Wingrave?”

“The very one,” Jamie said, at the same time Murray said, “Who else?”

“What do you do?”

“I’m just the wee groundskeeper.”

Murray scoffed, handing Dani’s card back to her. “Don’t say ‘just’ like it in’t you keepin’ those grounds neat as a pin instead of the owner.”

“Oi, the man’s a barrister,” Jamie said. “Can’t do that work from home, can you?” Though there’s other work he could do, she thought, remembering Flora and Miles begging her before she left to tell Uncle Henry they missed him.

She asked Dani how she knew the name.

Dani’s cheeks colored slightly. “Oh, I mean… I keep seeing an ad in the paper. Something about an au pair position?”

Jamie swallowed. She knew the one. “Yeah. Hasn’t been filled.”

“I’ve been seeing it for six months.”

A weighty silence. A stone formed in Jamie’s throat. Almost a year later, and still thinking of Rebecca brought a storm of sadness and anger.

“I’m sorry,” Dani said, face heavy with sympathy, a note of regret underneath it. “You knew whoever it was.”

Jamie nodded. “Rebecca. Very well.” She cleared her throat and passed the order sheet to Murray. “And thank you.”

Dani’s smile was nervous. She collected her carnations, shouldering a bulging purse. “I should get going. I-I’d hate to keep you.” She paused. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

“You too,” Jamie said, offering a smile. 

Dani gave a small wave as she passed.

Jamie watched her leave, watched her walk into the warm London world, no longer worried about the workload waiting for her when she returned to the manor, feeling, strangely, lighter.


	2. A Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gave me a little trouble, but I hope the result is worth it xx 
> 
> \--  
> I've also realized this fic may expand beyond four chapters, but I can hope that it won't.

**S** he returned to the manor still in one piece, in a state of awe over the encounter. Jamie shook her head in wonder at the world’s oddities, once again taking up her spade, burying herself in dirty work for three more hours, placing plants into holes but not filling them. They’d have to wait for Henry’s approval, which would, hopefully, be tomorrow afternoon. Once done, and satisfied that there was nothing else except touch-ups to continue after lunch, Jamie set the tools aside, wiped her hands on an old handkerchief, and ambled up to the back door, where she took off her boots and let the handkerchief fall atop them.

Lunch smells greeted her: Seasoned meat roasting in the oven, along with bread. And by the sound of it, everyone else was already seated and waiting for it. Sounds she wouldn’t tire of, and ones Jamie knew she’d miss if she ever went away from here.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Owen said by way of greeting.

“Because there _are_ ghosts here!” Flora insisted. “Who did you see, Jamie?” She was sitting in her usual chair, turned so that she could see Jamie, wielding a fork in a fist.

“The ghost of childhood past,” she replied from the sink, and smiled at Flora’s puzzled frown.

“The good kind?” Hannah asked. She held a sweating glass of gin and tonic in two hands.

“Yeah. Ran into someone I haven’t seen for over a decade.” Haven’t seen, or really thought of, except in those rare, fleeting moments where something, be it inanimate object or living thing, sent Jamie back to those troubled days. The funny thing was, Dani had said, in a small, sad voice on the last day she and Jamie ever saw each other, “I won’t see you again.” They had both believed it. Clearly someone had other plans. Jamie continued, wiping her hands dry on a thinning dishtowel, “She was someone I went to school with.”

“In England?” said Owen.

“America.”

Owen’s face showed a mask of surprise, but he did not press, only turned back to the stove to flick the timer off. He and Hannah both knew Jamie didn’t look back on that year in America with any particular fondness. It was a chapter in her life she wished was more a vignette, though she supposed she had Dani to thank for a few brighter sentences.

“Sit next to me, Jamie!” Flora said, patting the chair to her left. She lowered her voice once Jamie was comfortable. “You didn’t see anyone? In your garden?”

“Not a soul,” Jamie replied, voice equally as soft. “You seen anyone?”

Flora shook her head. “Not during the day.”

“She swears someone comes in at night,” Miles said. “That’s why Mrs. Grose mops up mud sometimes.”

Hannah made a sound that was half laugh, half scoff. “It’s more than sometimes these days. And it can’t be Flora running about at night. Those footprints are too bloody large.”

“It isn’t me, either,” Miles said.

Hannah’s look was disbelieving.

Jamie asked, keeping her tone light and joking, “Who could it be? You think it’s Owen?”

“Me? Track mud through the house Mrs. Grose devotes many cleaning hours to?” Owen brought a tray of rolls to the table, along with a large plate of sliced roast beef. “She’d have endless beef with me if I did such a thing.” He winked at Hannah. Their smiles were mirror images of fondness.

“It’s the lady,” Flora said, so softly that only Jamie heard.

“What lady, love?”

“The one from the lake.”

Across the table, Miles, having heard the reply, rolled his eyes, but the half-hearted way he speared roast beef onto his plate told Jamie he didn’t mean it. Flora had mentioned the lady of the lake a handful of times before today, starting about a year after Jamie’s arrival and again a month after Rebecca’s. She remembered placing a succulent by the window in the schoolroom and the scattered clay dolls on one of the desks, one wearing all white, stringy dark hair made from bits of yarn, the face as white as the clothes and almost perfectly smooth. Children’s imaginations were vivid; there was never any shortage of imaginary friends. Even the unsettling ones. Gazing at the figure, Jamie had wondered where in the world Flora had conjured such an image. From a story? Or a dream?

“She’s been walking lately,” Flora continued. “A lot more than usual.”

Jamie barely had time to wonder just what “more than usual” meant; Hannah swooped in, placing bread and meat onto Flora’s plate with a, “Better eat, dear, before you tell enough to give Jamie nightmares.”

“Don’t get ‘em,” Jamie said, more to Flora than anyone else. Then she whispered, “Could stay the night, though. Keep an eye out.”

Flora shook her head. “Thank you, but it isn’t necessary.” Spoken like someone older.

After lunch, while Owen took a trip into town to visit his mother and Flora and Miles raced out of the house to the statue garden, Jamie and Hannah loitered in the kitchen, finishing the washing up. It was bright with summer sun, and warm. They gazed out the window at the stretch of lush green grounds.

“She’s been talking an awful lot about ghosts, Flora has,” Hannah said, sighing. “Poor thing. Misses her parents, and Rebecca.”

“Don’t tell her she’s imaginin’ things,” Jamie said.

“Oh, I won’t.”

A heavy pause. Jamie carefully set a plate into the drying rack. “The… old friend I saw? She’s seen Henry’s au pair ad in the paper.”

“Express any interest?”

Jamie shook her head. “Only said she’s been seein’ it for six months.”

Hannah hummed. “Finding a new au pair will be like trying to find water in a desert. Exceedingly hard.” She plucked the drain. “Whoever she is will have some very large shoes to fill.”

Jamie said nothing. Only nodded.

“And,” Hannah added, “I hope she has no time whatsoever for a man.”

“Or desire for one?” Jamie said, smiling. “Good luck with that in this wee town.”

“Well. There was you, wasn’t there? And what about all those _late nights_ you duck your head at when asked about them?”

Jamie bumped Hannah’s shoulder with her own, smiling wider at Hannah’s bright laugh. “You moosher.”

Back outside it was, working on the details of the roses and the many shrubberies dotted throughout the manor’s grounds, with a break for a gin and tonic at three—brought proudly out by Owen, who promised he’d gone easy on the gin because he’d hate for Jamie to be fired—and a cigarette at three-thirty, then it was the lawns until five-thirty, followed by a thorough clean up of tools. Once everything was tucked away in the shed, Jamie trekked through the almost-twilight into a spot at the edge of the grounds. It was nestled tightly in the embrace of trees, a pair of logs lounging horizontally in front of an iron arch. And on it, the green stretch of a moonflower. The other parts of the grounds were works that Jamie was proud of, at the end of the day, but this stubborn thorn-in-the-side was her pride and joy. A challenge in of itself. It was the plant into which she poured her frustrations and her stress, but also her patience and eagerness. It was healthy. But it wasn’t ready to bloom. Not yet. It would take another month, at least.

Jamie didn’t stay for dinner, preferring the forty-minute drive to town with the windows of her Land Rover rolled down, Blondie serenading her from the stereo. Preferring, still, the tiny room above the pub, where she could nurse a pint of cheap shit for (almost) free, and let the awe she’d repressed earlier make a reappearance. Let the turn of Dani Clayton play again.

And again.

—

A phone call interrupted breakfast. The phone’s ring was shrill in the kitchen’s sleepy silence. Owen bounced to get it, his “Hello?” considered, by some, to be far too cheerful for an early hour. Jamie scooped the last of her porridge with blueberries onto her spoon and scooted her bowl away.

“Sure,” said Owen to whoever was on the other end of the line, “just a moment. Jamie. It’s for you.”

“An admirer?” said Miles.

“Hope not,” Jamie said. She rose and took the phone from Owen, shuffling around the bricked corner so as to be out of sight. “Jamie speakin’.”

“Hello Jamie.” It was Henry. “How are you?”

“Good,” she said. “Good.” Not how she imagined her morning starting, making small talk with the boss. 

“Glad to hear it. Do you know, I was thinking of dropping in this afternoon to see how those flowers for the gardens are turning out.”

“I haven’t filled their holes yet, in case you want to rearrange.”

“Oh, wonderful. Well, shall we say… one o’clock? Or is that too early?”

Jamie poked her head around the wall. Flora and Miles were looking more perky. Hannah and Owen were bent over this morning’s copy of _The Times,_ folded back to the daily crossword. “Should be fine,” Jamie said.

“Splendid!” His enthusiasm sounded forced. “I’ll see you then.”

“Right-o.”

“Who was it?” Hannah asked, not looking up from the puzzle.

Jamie stood between the kids and said, “Guess who’s comin?”

They shared a gasp. “Uncle Henry!” said Flora.

“Really?” said Miles, his smile brighter. “He’s really coming?”

“We must make it special!” Flora was out of her chair now. She tapped Hannah on the shoulder excitedly. “ _We’ll_ do the cleaning, Mrs. Grose. It’ll be perfectly splendid when we’re done!”

“Can’t say no to that, can I?” Hannah said, and called after the kids when they bolted down the hallway, “Now do slow down, or you’ll break something!” She turned to Owen and asked, “How much sugar did you put in their porridge, Chef Sharma?”

“Not a spoonful,” Owen said, looking delighted. “That sweetness is all their own.”

The morning air was cool and streaked by golden sunlight. Pleasant enough to work in, unlike winter mornings, where Jamie felt she had to keep constant rhythm to avoid turning into a gardener-shaped popsicle. There wasn’t much to do other than make note of the plants whose holes she hadn’t filled and what kind they were. The harder work would come later, if Henry made any changes.

Slowly, the sun rose higher, the air grew hotter, and morning crawled into afternoon. Having some time before an earlier lunch, Jamie poked into the greenhouse, checking on the plants there as well as the traps she’d set underneath ancient metal tables. No rats. Or mice. Still, she thought, checking an aloe plant’s soil, it might be nice to have a cat around. A tom, maybe, one that could entertain himself with the abundance of rodents and find time to say hello every now and again.

The carnations caught Jamie’s eye next, wilting in their pot next to the back window. Their color was nearly identical to the ones Dani bought the day before. With a sigh, Jamie checked it over. She would, if whoever was in charge of people’s lives decided they would run into each other again, ask how that last day went. Only out of politeness. Because that was what one did when they met someone they’d seen once before. Only that.

“It may be past your time,” Jamie told the carnations. “Or maybe I’ve neglected you.”

She wouldn’t throw them just yet.

The house, when she made it inside for lunch, was almost immaculately clean. The foyer was neat and re-organized, the floors swept and mopped, the stairs and their railings dusted, with a new, redder runner striped down the middle. Other furniture had been dusted and straightened, too.

“Fine job they did,” Jamie said to Hannah in the kitchen. She held another gin and tonic.

“I could get used to this,” Hannah said.

Jamie requested a gin and tonic of her own. She would’ve made it herself, but alcoholic concoctions were different than making a brew. Owen had the best touch. She took a few sips. Looked around for the kids before saying, in a quieter tone, “A bit sad, isn’t it? How excited they get for him and he barely acknowledges ‘em.”

“A little,” Hannah said, “though what I think is sadder is how _bright_ that hope is and how quickly it’s extinguished.” She sighed. “They know they’re loved, these two, by us, but sometimes it’s enough to know that we’re loved by the right person.”

Jamie hummed into her glass. “Still think he might come round?” Her own father couldn’t, despite his best efforts. Too much time in darkness, he didn’t know what to do with the light he’d found. It was a strange, foreign thing, and he couldn’t love his kids completely. Doing so might’ve shattered his heart anew, because they all bore echoes of their mother.

“It’s not for me to say. It’ll all be up to Henry, in the end.”

It was Jamie’s turn to sigh. She hoped, somehow, that Henry would take the right step. That he wouldn’t turn away from two children who wanted, so desperately, to give him their love and their time.

“There is some good in this,” Owen said, setting a warmed-up pan of shepherd’s pie in the middle of the table before collapsing into the nearest chair. “The fact they still can get excited.”

He wasn’t wrong. But, deep down, Jamie knew they were all wondering when that would fade, _if_ it would, and turn into indifference.

The kids, once down and talking over each other about the cleaning, barely touched their lunch. Flora rambled about the plans she had, from showing Henry her favorite flowers and how she still had her dollhouse. Miles, eyeing Hannah’s gin and tonic, asked if he could try it. Hannah scooted the tall glass closer to her and replied, “Maybe when you’re twenty.”

“But is it any good?” he said.

“Oh, very. But I go easy on the gin. Tends to make one sad.”

“I always thought gin made you sin,” Jamie said.

“Not as much as whiskey,” Owen said.

“Absinthe has the word in it,” Hannah said.

Flora piped up, “Hot chocolate makes me sin!”

“Nah,” said Jamie, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Just makes you run about like a headless chicken.”

The warm world of the kitchen froze at the doorbell’s chime.

1:20, Jamie thought. Very like him to be late.

The kids were the first to leave the table, minding Hannah’s words this time. Jamie, Hannah, and Owen followed behind them, gathering in the foyer just as Miles pulled the door open. Henry stood there, in his swank office suit, hair looking as if he’d fixed it on the drive over. The kids ambushed him, throwing two pairs of arms around his legs with a joyous “Uncle Henry!” He laughed, patted them both on the back.

“Hello, hello,” he said to Flora and Miles. “You look well.”

His eyes, deep blue and tired, glanced to the stairs on more than one occasion, as if he was expecting to see someone there.

“Oh we’re more than that, aren’t we, Miles?” said Flora.

“We’ve missed you,” Miles said.

Flora said, “Did you come just to see us?”

Another laugh, more on the side of awkward than amused. A tense stone formed in Jamie’s stomach.

“Well,” Henry began, “I’ve really come to discuss the gardens with Jamie, but for you, too.” At last he straightened and came into the house, Flora and Miles framing him, still looking delighted. Hannah stepped forward first, all grace and bright smile.

“It’s been a little while, sir,” she said, shaking his hand. “London keeping you busy?”

“Oh, always, always. You never get out to the country like you want to.”

“Downside of an office job, I’m afraid.”

“Truly.” He turned to Owen next. “And how are you, Owen?”

“Still upright,” Owen replied. He shook Henry’s hand, too. “Still cooking.”

“Is your mother…?”

“She’s all right, thank you. Still here. I can’t ask for more.”

“Certainly.”

Slowly, the group moved to the kitchen, Henry looking increasingly uncertain in the wake of Flora and Miles’ overlapping chatter, like an actor who’d stumbled into the middle of a play and didn’t know any lines. The room still smelled like lunch, and the plate and glasses weren’t yet cleared from the table, but Henry didn’t notice the mess at all.

“There’s still a bit of lunch left over, Henry,” Owen said, “if you’d like some.”

“Thank you, but no.”

And there was, of course, no need to ask Henry if he’d like anything to drink, either, as there was the subtlest hint of a flask’s outline in his left trouser pocket. Easily mistaken for a wallet, if one didn’t know what they were looking for, or didn’t know the man.

“Let’s leave those two to business, shall we?” said Hannah, gathering Flora and Miles further into the kitchen. “I sense a baking lesson.”

Excited questions— “Is it a strawberry cake?” from Flora; “Or lemon bars?” from Miles—accompanied Jamie and Henry in their short trek down the hallway, and were cut off abruptly by the back door, replaced by wind rustling the trees and songbirds.

“Shall we?” Jamie said.

“After you,” Henry said. “Please.”

It felt odd, leading him through his own gardens, even though Jamie was the one with the knowledge of them and Henry looked as if he’d manage to kill a plant on the first day. Still, she led him, taking him through the plants whose holes she hadn’t filled, the flowers she thought would be suitable for the charity ball but needed a second opinion on. They went through the rose garden and the statue garden and the shrubberies just before the church, discussing placements, appropriate flower types, and colors. Jamie had to excuse herself after a rambling forty minutes to fetch a clipboard, paper and pen from her greenhouse to scribble down what had been said. Below that, she drew an outline of the three gardens and made note of the plants and flowers that were already there, the ones that Henry wanted to keep, and the ones that he wanted changed.

“How soon can you get the revisions to Murray?” Henry asked. They were in the shrubberies, paused by the fountain, whose gurgling water splashed out of the bowl at irregular intervals. It was cooler by it, but the sun was still too hot against Jamie’s back.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” she replied.

“Good.” Henry took out his flask and downed a greedy sip. Whatever was in there, it certainly wasn’t wine.

“He’s more of a functioning alcoholic these days,” Rebecca had said once, during the spring of 1986, after she’d returned from London. She’d asked Henry, for the third time, by that point, about the pupillage. She’d been more absent-minded, too, and though Jamie knew it was Peter, she didn’t voice it. Instead, around a bite Owen’s famous beef wellington, she’d said, “No alcoholic is functioning. Doesn’t matter how fucking hard they pretend.”

“The kids miss you,” Jamie said, the words slipping out without prompt.

“I’m glad they’re well.”

“They might want you to stay for dinner.”

Henry’s reply was absent. “One day, perhaps.”

It hurt to know how right Hannah was.

“Have they asked about a new au pair?” Henry said.

The question took Jamie by surprise. “They haven’t.”

Henry hummed. “Well… I interviewed a… candidate for the position. At ten this morning, if you can believe it.”

Jamie’s brows shot to the sky. _No one_ saw Lord Henry Wingrave before noon. Not even his favorite secretary. “Six months, that ad’s been in your paper,” Jamie said. Then, almost hesitantly, “Good news?”

“I gave her the position,” Henry replied with a shrug, and another drink. “A teacher. American. _Very_ charming. Danielle… Clayton, I think her name was.” He tucked his flask back into his pocket and continued, when words failed Jamie, “I think we’ve done all we can out here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll tell the children the news.”

It was as if Jamie’s boots had grown roots of their own and decided, stubbornly, to stay where they were, buried in the fine gravel.

Dani Clayton would be the new au pair.


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little shy of a month. Sorry about that. And I'm sorry this chapter is so short and that the beginning is rather slow; I have to show you the world of this fic! I promise things will pick up a bit after this chapter. I've also upped the number of chapters, since there was no way this whole story could fit into four. It's gonna be long, and I'm having a lot of fun
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this! Let me know what you think xx

**“I** t is,” Hannah remarked in the silence that lingered after breakfast, “rather odd.”

Flora and Miles had left ten minutes ago, eager to enjoy the sunny day before the rain—slated to arrive later in the week—ruined the chances of building their imaginary world in the manor’s vast outdoors. The kitchen’s quiet was welcomed. Jamie, Hannah, and Owen leaned back in their chairs, nursing tea, Jamie munching on lemon biscotti the kids helped Owen make yesterday afternoon.

Hannah meant, of course, Dani. She continued, “Odd, because Jamie and I had just talked about the position.”

“Seems to have made a good impression on Henry,” said Owen. “Rather hard to accomplish these days.”

“Maybe he likes Americans,” Jamie said around the last of her biscotti.

“Do you?” Hannah asked, entirely teasing.

“Long as this one doesn’t think she’s the sun.” As tempting as it was to stay and chat about someone she barely knew, there was work to be done. Jamie said as much, rising from the table to rinse her plate and teacup with a groan.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Owen said. “You’re what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-seven,” Jamie said.

“Exactly. Too young to be making that sort of noise.”

“Take it easy, old-timer,” she said in her best American accent (which was, admittedly, not good at all.) “No need to rush me into my golden years.” She left the crush-birds where they were, figuring they deserved a warm few minutes to themselves before duty raised its head.

Jamie’s agenda was full. The lawns needed trimming, the gravel in the drive needed a raking over—and would again before Dani’s arrival, whenever it came—and the statues and fountain were desperate for a good scrub. Jamie began with the drive, taking note of the places that might need her touch in the evening, or tomorrow. She had, when fetching tools from the shed, thought of taking her Walkman with her, had almost gotten it from the potting drawer in the greenhouse—where she kept a spare pack of Lucky Strikes—but thought better of it. Most days she was content with the songs the manor had to offer: birds twittering in the trees, the breeze blowing through branches and leaves, a low whistle, Flora and Miles’ voices carrying from somewhere unseen, words indiscernible. Sometimes she would add her own song, one from a tape she’d listened to that morning, or had heard on the radio on the drive over, or one made up. She knew what melodies and rhythms were but couldn’t tell you the identities of notes or what a key was, and so the little songs she hummed were tunes she couldn’t carry. Not that it mattered anyway, when her only audience was yards and yards of grass and inanimate concrete objects.

Dani’s voice, she remembered, was sweet. It resurfaced as suddenly as an unexpected crack of thunder. A sweet voice, for someone untrained.

_“That’s nice.”_

_“It’s old. My mom played it this morning.”_

And—

_“What’s that?”_

_Dani shrugged. “Jethro Tull, I think,” she said, nose wrinkling in displeasure. “Some band Eddie likes.”_

_“Your boyfriend.”_

_The agreement was soft. “Yeah.”_

Were they still together? Jamie wondered, working over the bowl of the fountain now, boots splashing the remaining puddles askew. Did he come here with her? Jamie remembered they were almost inseparable, Dani and Eddie, and when they were, he was never far. People had declared they would be high school sweethearts, and perhaps they had been, but her life being the mess that it was, Jamie didn’t find out.

_“I won’t see you again.”_

Jamie sank into a crouch, rolling her head to loosen the tense muscles in her neck. She sighed, “Fuck.” Kept thinking about those parting words. Kept thinking she’d find Hannah in the house and ask, “You ever feel God’s testin’ you?”

“God?” Hannah might say, a surprised scoff escaping her mouth. “Never hear that from you.” But she’d ponder the question and answer thoughtfully, and then ask, “What brought this on?”

“Sometimes people have a way of staying in our lives,” Rebecca had said, on a day much like this one—sunny, warm, she and Jamie enjoying the shade of the gazebo, “whether we want them to or not.” She’d looked at Peter across the way, among the shrubs, in expensive clothes Henry had paid for, passing a rugby ball back and forth with Miles.

“You’re right, chick,” Jamie said quietly. The side onto which Dani Clayton would fall in that equation, however, remained in limbo.

London, as ever, was a bustle. Lunch crowds were everywhere, making Jamie grateful she’d had shepherd’s pie at the manor and not at some overpriced restaurant. She took nothing in as she walked; the memory of these streets was forever etched into her brain, even if the buildings on them changed names. Even if the spectres had been put to rest.

Getting to Murray took a little time. The shop was busy, the din almost a clamor in Jamie’s ears. Christ, she thought, shifting on booted feet, I’ve changed. The clamor had been appealing, once. Made people an easy target. The louder, the more crowded the place, the bigger the spoils.

_“Fucking look at that! Christ, this’ll last a week…”_

It never did. It was never enough. Not for the people she was with.

Murray gestured, free at last.

“Not bored today, are you?” Jamie said, passing the notes and revisions.

“You must be, if you’re comin’ to see me,” said Murray.

Jamie clicked her tongue. “A necessary hindrance.”

Murray chuckled. “Still liking work at the manor?”

“Love it.”

“Could run this place.”

“Could,” Jamie agreed, “but I’m not a Murray, am I?”

It wasn’t the only reason. London was too grand. Too filled with memory. Too fucking loud and too bloody expensive. Jamie patted him on a broad upper arm. “Keep dreamin’, old man.”

She turned to leave and half-expected to see Dani standing somewhere in line.


End file.
